


The First Time

by elwarre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, Dark, Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3199052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwarre/pseuds/elwarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was six months old the first time Dean saved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

The second time Dean saved him, Sam was six. John was chasing a werewolf’s bloody trail two states over, ignorant or heedless of their days’ old hunger, who knew. When Dean left to case the grocery store, the motel manager came knocking. Dean made it back in time.

Dean dragged the body away after dark, left behind sticky trails of thick red gore that crept to the edges of the suffocating room, that stained Sam’s hands his knees his face until Dean came back, alone. He grabbed Sam’s shoulders, wiped his eyes. Standard checking-over, nothing broken, nothing shattered. Everything shattered. Bone-deep terror, shivering relief. Sam didn’t know why. Dean followed Dad’s orders after that, until the striga.

Sam was twelve the first time Dean left him. He couldn’t remember much of it, hazy months of chestache and phlegm and Dean’s absence like a tap, draining him. Sideways glances from their father, a twitch in his eye when he spoke. Sam wasn’t sure, though, not until Dean came back. He hated John after that.

Sam was thirteen the first time he saw it, Dean on his knees in the alley muck. He was old enough to know what it meant. He went back to the hotel, dry-eyed, and counted the meager change in their jar. 

Dean came back with a blush on his cheeks and Sam knew he’d seen him, then. Dean knew Sam knew they all knew, around it goes. No one spoke, but Sam ate more slowly after that, savored each bite. Had to make sure the money held.

Sam was sixteen when Dean first kissed him, first revealed in drunken confession the depth of his self-hatred, his longing. It wasn’t a surprise. Sam had wondered for months what to do when it came, this eruption of want from his brother. Had known for a long time he’d give in. 

Dean pressed him into bed, mouthed at his neck. Whispered litany of _I’m sorry I’m sorry god Sammy I’m sorry fuck yes oh god fuck yes_. They both got off, went back to their separate beds. It felt like the start of something. 

Sam left at nineteen. At twenty-two, Dean reclaimed him.

\---

Now Sam’s thirty-two with rope-burned wrists and whatever Dean drugged him with clouding his head. “Garth’s on his way,” Dean says. “He’ll get you out.”

Dean’s pacing, brutal beat of one-two-one-two across the dungeon floor, his steady tread jarring against the green-black flicker of his eyes. He stops and kisses Sam, hot-cold breath in Sam’s face and _Dean it’s Dean not Ruby not Lucifer Dean Dean Dean please Dean_. Dean sinks his teeth in Sam’s neck and Sam can smell it, Sam’s blood Dean’s blood wants it hates it _please Dean please_. 

Can’t stop now. Has to stop _please stop_ but Dean’s green eyes are black with bloodlust. _Not even that bad,_ Sam wants to say, but Dean knows it’s too late, _too late, the man in the moon came down too late_. Dean’s face is wet and all Sam can see for one wild moment is hellhound claws and graveyard dirt and damn damn _damned_ his wristbones crunch against the rope and someone screams he screams Dean screams and the yellow-white teeth of Cain’s blade drip red with Dean’s blood.

Sam was six months old the first time Dean saved him, and thirty-two, the last.


End file.
